


Son of a Pitch

by zoetropes



Category: Carry On - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow series - Gemma T. Leslie
Genre: Angst and Feels, F/F, Gay, M/M, aight im a sucker for love hate relationships sue me, fifth year au where simon stops being a jerkass and realizes he loves baz, vampire baz, very gay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-28
Updated: 2015-12-30
Packaged: 2018-05-09 23:57:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5560858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zoetropes/pseuds/zoetropes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"From the moment he first laid eyes on Simon Snow, Baz knew that it was his destiny to make the boy’s life as miserable as possible."<br/>Baz has loved Simon since they met, but he doesn't realize it until their fifth year together at Watford. And when Baz starts going through changes and his world is turned upside down, he needs Simon more than ever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Firsts

**Author's Note:**

> yo guys! zoe here, with my first fanfic published on Ao3. this is just the first chapter in a series. drop a comment or some kudos to let me know what you think!

****From the moment he first laid eyes on Simon Snow, Baz knew that it was his destiny to make the boy’s life as miserable as possible.

 

They were eleven years old and in their first day of their first year at Watford School of Magicks when the Crucible had pulled them together during the absolutely inflexible, inalterable, immutable magical roommate selection process. Partners were drawn together all across the school lawn, breaking out into hesitant smiles or pleased laughter or, at the very least, a quiet acceptance. But when Snow, the lanky, scruffy-looking, orphan son of two Normals got pulled to Baz? Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch the Third?

 

There was no tender embrace, no nervous laughter. Baz stared at the boy in disbelief as the so-called “Chosen One”, the Mage’s Heir, stumbled towards him, looking like a mildly unsettled borzoi walking on its hind legs. This could not possibly be his roommate. His roommate for the next eight years of his life. Baz tried not to walk at all, tried to resist the pull of the Crucible, but it was pointless. They were drawn together like powerful magnets.

 

They were supposed to shake hands, to seal the spell. Everybody else did. Instead they just stood there for a moment, Baz’s arms crossed as he looked the boy up and down. “So _you’re_ the Chosen One?”

 

“Simon Snow,” the boy extended his hand and tried for a smile. Baz didn’t return it.

 

“I know who you are. I’m Tyrannus Basilton Pitch,” he said, and took Simon’s hand distastefully as if he were grasping a dead rat. The urge pulling them together ceased and Snow took a step back, staring up at the considerably taller Baz.

 

Simon’s eyes were blue, his cheeks a ruddy tan, and his hair a curling mess atop his head. Everything about him was light, laughing, sun-kissed. He was everything that Baz wasn’t. He was everything that Baz hated.

 

And yet Baz was drawn to him like a moth to a flame. The Crucible may have stopped pulling them together after that handshake, but something in Baz’s mind prevented him from letting go so easily. Snow consumed his waking thoughts and his dreams alike, like a cruel obsession. Every day he thought of a hundred different ways to torment the boy, things he could say to get under his skin, trip him up, rattle him— honestly, it was so easy to rile Snow up, push him to the breaking point. The difficult thing was learning when to back away, retreat just enough that Snow wouldn’t do anything too terribly stupid. The normal amount of stupid was quite enough for Baz.

 

They got into fights a few times across the years. Of course there was the constant bickering and the dry remarks and taunts and teases, but several times they did come to blows. They would have more than they did if it hadn’t been for the Anathema, the spell placed on each student’s room. The rule of the spell was that roommates could never lay a hand on each other with malicious intent within the room, or they would be cast out of the school and never let back in the gates. Everybody had heard of a cousin’s girlfriend’s brother who had been cast out like this, although it had never actually happened to anyone in the time that Basil and Simon were at Watford. Baz often wondered if they would be the first of this generation to cause such an incident, but it hadn’t happened yet. They’d always restrained themselves while inside the room. That was one of the only reasons he supposed they didn’t murder each other in their sleep.

 

That didn’t stop Baz from doing his utmost to sabotage Snow while outside of the room, however. Snow and his little posse would traipse around campus, slaying dragons and fighting off goblins and saving unicorns, or whatever sorts of things heroes typically did. It was infuriating. For every plan that Baz cleverly foiled, Snow would roll out two more. It didn’t help that Snow had The Mage, headmaster of the school and prominent leading figure in the magickal world at that point, on his side. He was the Mage’s Heir, after all.

 

“Why are you so obsessed with him?” Dev, one of Baz’s friends (or were they more like minions?) asked him at one point, after two years of incessant meddling.

 

“I think he’s just jealous he’s not the Chosen One,” Niall said, rolling his eyes.

 

“It’s a good thing that you’re strong with magic, Niall, because you obviously didn’t get accepted to Watford for your brains,” Baz said. “I don’t envy Snow’s life, being the Mage’s little pet. I’d rather kiss a merwolf than work with the bumbling old git.” That quieted them down. Baz’s (not unfounded) loathing for merwolves was a common topic of conversation. “Of course, if I _were_ the Chosen One, the Insidious Humdrum would be long dead by now. Snow and the Mage sure are taking their time.”

 

The Insidious Humdrum was more than just the mildly insidious creature that its name implied. His parents had always told him that it was one of the two great evils of this generation. The other, of course, being the Mage and his new line of magickal reforms, not least of them being his decree, as the principal, that Watford be open to any children with magic. Now there were pixies and elves and Normal-born mages like Simon walking around with only the barest of magickal ability. Anyways, the Insidious Humdrum was a rather mysterious creature, but two things were known for certain about it. The first was that it had the ability to suck magic out of the world, and, unchecked, it could and would destroy the world of Mages for good. The second was that, ever since Simon Snow had come to Watford, it seemed to have an incessant need to constantly be _fighting_ Snow. Every semester it came up with some new nefarious plan, always targeted at Snow, and, by association, at the school. It was quite a bother around campus; if Baz were any less of a student, it may have affected his grades.

 

Baz quickly learned a lot of things about Simon Snow. The two rarely talked, despite being roommates, but Basilton watched, carefully, with intent. The way Snow walked, he way he talked: relaxed with that Penelope girl and all nervous and flushed around Agatha Wellbelove, the way he chewed on the erasers on his pencils and drummed his fingers and sometimes hummed to himself when he thought nobody was looking. Sometimes Snow would be lost in thought and a curling strand would droop in front of his face and it took all of Baz’s strength not to brush it out of the way.

 

Baz’s hair was always slicked back, his tie always straightened, his shirt always buttoned all the way up. He would charm the creases out of his pants and the dirt from his shoes. He was a Pitch, he was part of what was once one of the most influential families in the magickal world, before The Mage’s reforms. He was a good student, top of every class. No, not good, perfect. He had friends who looked up to him and did whatever he’d ask (alright, minions). He had everything neat and orderly and perfect.

 

So how did Baz find himself, fifteen years old and in his fifth year at Watford, staring across the potions classroom at Simon Snow?

 

It took Baz several moments to realize that the teacher had said his name. He snapped out of it and straightened immediately. “One teaspoon of orris root powder,” he said, and, to his relief, the teacher smiled and continued on. Baz didn’t let himself so much as glance at Snow for the rest of the class. It was near the beginning of the semester, and he couldn’t afford to get off to a bad start all due to some stupid obsession. He wouldn’t stand for it. His father wouldn’t stand for it, either.

 

Baz’s father had sat him down the day before Baz left for Watford. The speech was short and stiff, and Baz remembered more what his father didn’t say than what he did.

 

He didn’t say, “Congratulations for being accepted to the most prestigious school for Mages. I’m proud of you.”

 

He didn’t say, “The important thing is that you learn, and thrive in a community of other people like yourself.”

 

He didn’t say, “I’m going to miss you.”

 

He also didn’t say, “You’re not just a Grimm. You’re not just a Pitch. You are the heir of both family lines, and it is your duty to uphold the standards passed down through the generations. You are to show this school what a mage really is. I know your potential, Tyrranus, and anything less than fulfilling it to its utmost is unacceptable.” His father didn’t say that because he didn’t have to. All he said was, “Don’t disappoint me.” Baz knew what his father meant without him having to say it in so many words.

 

And Baz wasn’t going to disappoint him. He had been the top of his class for five years in a row now, and he wasn’t about to let anything or anyone, least of all Simon Snow, the worst Chosen One ever to be chosen, distract him.

 

 

It was a Tuesday afternoon, and Baz had made the mistake of attempting to study in the room that he and Snow shared. Snow was holding a book in one hand and squinting at it, his face all scrunched up between the eyebrows, and holding his wand in the other, murmuring the same phrase over and over under his breath. “ **Done and dusted** ,” Snow said again, gesturing forcefully towards the bookshelf with his wand.

 

Baz tried his best to block the boy’s incessant muttering out, but after the eighth exasperated “ **done and dusted** ”, Baz slammed his book shut and took his own wand in hand. “The reason it’s not working is because nobody _uses_ that phrase, Snow. You’ve been at school for five years and you haven’t grasped one of the most basic principles of magic, have you? Repeating an old and worn out phrase over and over again isn’t going to make it work any better, you half-wit. It has to be a phrase that’s commonly used, or the magic doesn’t work. **Clean slate** ,” Baz said, and with a flick of his wand the bookshelf tidied itself, books edging into line with each other and dusk vanishing from the shelves.

 

Simon looked at Baz suspiciously. “You’re helping me?”

 

“It’s not for you, it’s for me,” Baz sneered. “It was the only way I could think of to shut you up that didn’t involve breaking the Anathema.”

 

Simon rolled his eyes. “Any other useful tips you feel compelled to give me?”

 

“I’m not a homework tutor, Snow,” Baz said. “Anyways, _some_ of us don’t need to cheat to get good grades.”

 

“ _Some_ of us have a life,” Snow said.

 

Just then, there was a tap on the window and they both turned to see Penelope Bunce’s face on the other side of the glass.

 

“Speak of the devil,” Baz grumbled, turning his back on them and flopping down on his bed.

 

“How’d you climb up here?” Snow asked after letting Bunce in. She dusted herself off as he stuck his head out the window and stared dubiously at the ground two stories below.

 

“I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you,” Bunce said.

 

“You’re not supposed to be in here,” Baz interjected, but neither of them paid him any mind. They usually didn’t. He usually didn’t care.

 

Bunce made herself at home, sitting down on the foot of Snow’s bed and absentmindedly closing one of his half-open drawers with a flick of her wand. “So, I’ve been thinking. About the Insidious Humdrum. It seems to be ramping up its attacks, building up to something. I mean, when the dragon came flying in during first-year, I didn’t think it could get any worse, but with the exorcism last year? That was just disgusting. I think we’d be right to worry about what’s coming this year, don’t you think?”

 

“He might not send anything this year,” Snow said.

 

“It,” Bunce corrected him. “We can’t take anything for granted about this creature, not even gender. I say we actually make a plan, unlike usual.” Snow opened his mouth to object, but Bunce rolled her eyes at him. “A _real_ plan this time, Simon. One that doesn’t involve summoning your sword at the first sign of trouble. We need to figure out everything we can about the Humdrum, use our brains and—“

 

Baz interrupted her. “You seem to be forgetting, Bunce, that he doesn’t have one of those.”

 

Bunce finally seemed to notice Baz and turned to Snow, annoyed. “What’s he doing here?”

 

“I don’t know if you’re aware of this, but I live here,” Baz said.

 

“We can go somewhere else if you’d like,” Snow offered.

 

Baz sat up and waved his hand back and forth in front of his face. “They can’t hear me. It’s like I’m a ghost. Am I a ghost? Am I dead? I see this blinding white light— it’s engulfing me! Goodbye, cruel world!”

 

“Come on, Simon, let’s go,” Bunce glared at Baz distastefully, rising to her feet.

 

“Don’t bother,” Baz said, grabbing his books and shoving them into his schoolbag. “Go on and make your little plans. I’ll find out about them, either way.” He stalked out of the room and slammed the door, feeling rather pleased with the level of sass in his dramatic exit. His satisfaction was diminished when he heard their voices from behind the door.

 

“I don’t know how you can stand to live with him.”

 

“Every year I ask the Mage to reassign me, but he says the Crucible makes its choices for a reason, something about destiny, blah blah blah. I don’t know how my destiny could include somebody who’s tried to kill me twice already… he’s evil, I swear, Penelope.”

 

Baz didn’t stick around to hear any more. Snow’s words shouldn’t have hurt him the way they did. They hated each other, and they always had. But still, there was an angry, indignant, hurt part in the back of Baz’s mind that said, “I wasn’t trying to kill you. Only hurt you a little. That’s what we do, isn’t it? Pretend we hate each other, because we can’t bear to think the alternative?” But Snow wasn’t pretending. He’d said Baz was evil. He really did hate him.

 

Baz wished it were that easy for him, but he didn’t hate Snow. He couldn’t. Instead, Baz had to be the fool who fell in love with him.


	2. Changes

Baz felt the changes for the first time on Halloween. He and Niall and Dev were sitting together at their table in the cafeteria. There were multitudes of pumpkin pie and candy for all of the students at supper, and then there was supposed to be a mixer of sorts, a great milling about on the lawn in costume for those who wanted to dress up. Dev had wanted the three of them to go in matching outfits, like aliens or ninjas.

“We haven’t gone since the second year,” he’d said. “I could conjure us up some costumes, it’s not too late.”

“We haven’t gone since the second year because we’re not twelve anymore,” Baz snapped. He was preoccupied; his gums had been hurting since that afternoon, and the pain had just grown more intense. He shoved another biscuit in his mouth and stared across the large room at Snow, who was laughing at something that Agatha Wellbelove had just said. Wellbelove had been going steady with Snow for almost a year now, but something had changed since they’d gotten back to school. A wandering of her eyes, a distant yearning. Snow didn’t notice, but Baz did. Baz noticed everything.

“…Are you listening to me, Baz?” Niall had been saying something, and Baz had missed it.

Baz started to respond, but his mouth suddenly felt very full. He tasted blood on his tongue, his own blood. The inside of his mouth stung with a renewed pain, and Baz covered his mouth with his hand in horror.

“I said, you’ve been eating like a wild animal tonight,” Niall continued. “What’s gotten into you?”

Baz pushed his hair back and stumbled to his feet, one hand still on his bleeding mouth. This caught their attention. Everyone’s attention. He tried not to look across the room, really tried, but he did anyways; Snow was staring from his table.

He turned and fled the cafeteria, pushing his way past students who stared at him in concern or disgust. He realized they probably thought he was about to vomit. He wasn’t so sure himself that he wasn’t, but he knew it wasn’t food poisoning or the flu or anything like that. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong.

Without really meaning to, Baz found himself headed down to the catacombs. He’d been there before, but only a few times. When things got really bad in his head and he needed some place to be alone. Nobody ever went down there because they thought it was creepy or haunted or something. He worried that there might be some students down there on Halloween, but it was eerily silent. Superstitious lot, those Mages are.

He worked his way deeper and deeper into the heart of the catacombs, one hand against the wall to keep himself propped up, the other still on his mouth. He took it away and saw blood covering it, a bad amount of blood. It dripped out of his mouth and down his chin. He didn’t bother trying to cover his mouth after that.

He didn’t know why he wasn’t getting help. He should be going to the nurse’s office, or even the Mage. Except, he didn’t trust them. He didn’t trust anybody. He should have somebody down here with him, to keep him company and help him and try to understand what was happening. But he didn’t have anyone. If he were Snow, he’d have Bunce, and Wellbelove, and the Mage, and the whole damned school down here with him, but he wasn't Snow. Sure, Dev and Niall hung out with him, but they weren’t his friends. They didn’t know anything about him.

Baz understood for the first time, down there in the catacombs, what loneliness really was. It was not having anybody to talk to about your feelings. It was not having somebody you’d trust with your secrets. But, more than that, it was not having anybody to just sit next to you while you die.

He really thought he was dying. He reached a dead end in the catacombs and slumped down to the floor, his back against a wall of bones. He was in pain, so much pain. Not just his mouth now, but his whole body. His stomach. He ached in a way he’d never felt before, like a deep, insatiable hunger that could never be filled. He felt as if he was imploding, folding in upon himself like origami until there was nothing left.

But he didn’t die. He closed his eyes, ready for the blackness to overwhelm him, if only it would stop the pain, but when he opened them again everything was different. His vision was tinted red, and his mind was sharper than it had ever been before. The hunger still consumed him, but it was focused now to a specific purpose. He reached up his hand and touched his mouth and it was sharp. His teeth were elongated, pointed, deadly. He understood what was going on. He didn’t know how or why this was happening, but in that instant he knew what he was, and he knew what he had to do: eat.

He’d gone farther into the catacombs than he ever had before, but he had no trouble making it out. Every sense was sharpened now, especially smell. He caught a whiff of the scent of blood and followed it through the catacombs. He found the source of the smell near the entrance, and caught it. He killed the rabbit with a sharp twist of its neck and fed. He couldn’t stop himself, and he didn’t want to.

The hunger faded a bit after he ate, so he found himself stumbling out onto the lawn. A few minutes ago, it would have been unable to resist the feast here, the large sacks of blood walking around, unawares, so easy to pick off one by one and… But he’d fed already, and, although it wasn’t enough to last him long, it was enough to give him a little control. He crossed the lawn to the forest, walking briskly, hoping nobody bothered him. Of course, he wasn’t that lucky.

“Oi! Nice costume,” a girl said as he brushed by her. He didn’t bother with a response, just kept his head down and his eyes forwards.

“Wh— I thought you said we weren’t going to dress up.” This was Dev, sounding hurt, but Baz didn’t have time to coddle him or his feelings.

“I said we weren’t going to dress up together,” Baz managed. There. That would get him to leave him alone. It did. He’d have to apologize later, but he could handle that. He couldn’t handle anything right now, though, so he just kept walking, hoping and praying to whatever gods were out there that he wouldn’t be stopped again, especially not by—

“A little on the nose, isn’t it?” Snow said. He was dressed in a ridiculous white sparkly outfit that was obviously handmade by Bunce. “The vampire costume, I mean. You didn’t even have to change your hair or anything, you’re a regular Dracula. You just need a cape.”

“Get out of my way, Snow,” Baz growled, and his voice was low and frightening. Snow took an involuntary step back. “Now is not the time.”

“I just wanted to say that I saw you earlier, in the dining hall,” Snow narrowed his eyes. “I know you’re not sick. I know you’re planning something, and I’m going to find out what it is.”

“I said, get out of my way!” Baz pushed past Snow roughly and stormed towards the forest. All he could think of was, I don’t want to hurt you. Please don’t make me hurt you.

“I’m Snow!” Simon called out after Baz, who didn’t understand what he meant at first. “Get it? Like, _snow_.”

The idiot was still talking about his costume. “A little on the nose, don’t you think?” Baz shot back. He couldn’t help it. He knew how to push Snow’s buttons, but Snow managed to, whether he wanted to or not, manipulate Baz every time. Because Baz couldn’t resist an opportunity to quip back at him. Because Baz couldn’t resist an opportunity to try and impress him. Because Baz couldn’t resist… him. But now, all Baz needed to concentrate on was getting away, getting into the forest, getting somewhere where he couldn’t hurt anybody, least of all Simon.

 

The next morning, he woke up on dirt. He was in the middle of the wood. He touched his mouth and found that his teeth were back to normal. His wounds were healed. It was as if it hadn’t happened at all. Except, there was another rabbit carcass on the ground next to him, covered in its own blood. He shot to his feet and staggered away, looking around. It was morning, but just barely. He had to get back to his room, had to take a shower— he was caked with blood and dirt and his hair was a mess. He started running. As he raced towards his dorm, relief flooded over him. He was alive. And so was everybody else at the school. He was still at a loss for answers, to his infinite questions about what was going on, but he had survived the night, and that was enough.

He dreaded what would happen when he got back, what questions people would ask about where he’d been, why he was late to his classes. Especially Snow. Baz had to come up with a story, weave a web that people would believe. It never even crossed his mind to tell anyone.

When he got back to his room, Snow was still asleep. Baz looked out the window, disconcerted; it was definitely morning… Oh. Saturday morning. It was a weekend. No class, no excuses, no Snow for several more hours (the Chosen One was a rather heavy sleeper).

He took a shower and got dressed and headed out to the library. He needed answers, and if he wasn’t going to ask anybody anything, he was going to have to find them out for himself.

The librarian was old and looked vaguely like a gnome. She wasn’t actually a gnome, of course— although there were several gnomes on campus— she just had that gnomish look about her. Baz took a moment to catch his breath. “Excuse me, ma’am. I’ve got a research project; I need books.”

The librarian looked up, very slowly, everything about her face drooping. “You’ve come to the right place, then, Mister Grimm-Pitch. What can I get for you?”

“I need everything you have on vampires.”


	3. Monsters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yo! zoe here. thank y'all so much for reading! i've been very lucky with a free schedule over winter break that has allowed me to update every day so far, but once the spring semester starts i won't have that sort of time. don't worry, i'll still continue to publish chapters, but they won't be on such a consistent daily schedule. anyways, thanks again! peace out, bros. <3

“How long have you known?”

 

“Basilton, sit down.” Baz’s father had the gall to look annoyed, a cigar in his mouth and a disapproving look in his eyes. He gestured to the plush armchair on the other side of the desk. Baz had come all the way home the next day, a Sunday, and barged straight into the manor, waving off the frightened maid and throwing open the door to his father’s office.

 

Baz didn’t sit down. “Really, father? You’re going to pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about? I’m a vampire.” He spat the word out. It tasted bitter on his tongue. “How long?”

 

“We’ve always known,” his father snapped. “Now, if you want me to say any more on the matter, you’ll sit down.”

 

Baz complied grudgingly, his hands curling into white-knuckled fists on the armrests.

 

“We’ve always known… what you are. It’s not exactly the sort of thing one can keep secret, especially as a baby.”

 

“I was a baby?” The questions flooded out uncontrollably. “ _We_? Daphne knows?”

 

“Would it kill you to call her your mother for once, Basilton?”

 

“She’s not my mother. And, apparently, I’m already dead.” Daphne Grimm-Pitch was his step-mother. She’d married his father less than two years after Baz’s real mother had died. Natasha died in the attack on the school back when she was Headmistress, back before the Mage came into power and changed everything.

 

“We were wondering when you’d start showing signs. It usually hits at puberty; we didn’t think it would take quite so long. We were hoping it would be sometime this summer while you were at home, where we could keep an eye on you.”

 

“You should have told me,” Baz said. He tried to swallow the lump in his throat.

 

“It was a hard time for me, for all of us, after Natasha… after Natasha,” his father said. “You were scared and confused enough as it was without us having to explain to you that when one of those _things_ bit you during the attack, you became like them.”

 

And then the tears were in Baz’s eyes, whether he wanted them to be or not. It was the attack on the school, the vampire attack. Of course. He could remember it clearly now, as if a veil had been lifted.Him in the nursery at the school, the vampires who flooded in, his mother rushing in too late to protect him… “You should have told me.”

 

“Told you what?” And then Baz’s little sister Mordelia was in the doorway, her eyes wide and nervous. “Baz, what’s going on? Why are you home?”

 

“I’m a vampire. I’m a monster. I always have been. And apparently everybody knew about it except for me.”

 

Mordelia slowly looked back and forth between Baz and his father, her mouth falling agape, before settling back on Baz. “I thought you knew,” she whispered.

 

“ _You, too?_ ”

 

“I thought we all knew and just didn’t talk about it!” she squeaked. “That’s why I thought you were being ironic when you started doing your hair like that, like Dracula or something.”

 

“Oh, this is just fucking wonderful. Anything else you’d like to tell me? I’m adopted? I had a twin whom I was separated from at birth who got all the bad parts of me? I’m dead? Oh, wait, I _am_ dead.” He stood again, shaking his head in disgust. “I’m leaving.”

 

“Wait! Won’t you at least stay for supper?” his sister pleaded.

 

“No,” he said. “Vampires have never been welcome in the Grimm-Pitch household, I don’t see why the ban should be lifted now.”

 

 

I’m a monster, he thought, on the train ride back to Watford. I’m exactly the type of creature that I’ve always hated, disdained, wanted to keep out of the world of magicians. Why? Because… because goblins and pixies and _vampires_ aren’t real Mages. They’re not people, they’re like animals. Uncontrollable, savage animals. They don’t belong at Watford. I don’t belong at Watford.

 

Under Baz’s mother’s administration, vampires were never allowed. Under Baz’s mother’s roof, vampires were never accepted. Baz realized with full certainty that if his mother had survived she would have killed him. His mother, whom he loved and respected and looked up to for moral guidance for as long as he could remember. Baz had made his father tell him every story about Natasha and her life and her love and her ideals, so he had something to hang on to. She was his beacon. He’d based his whole mindset on her beliefs, and now a fundamental part of her beliefs were being challenged just by his existence.

 

If he wasn’t sure if he should tell anybody else before, he was now certain. Nobody could know, not after the things he’d said against creatures— _people_ — like what he had now turned out to be. It was all so very confusing within his own head, he didn’t need everybody else’s reactions to complicate things. He would just handle it. On his own. Go to the catacombs at night (he could already feel himself getting hungry), go to school at the day, carry on with his life like nothing had happened.

 

 

“Where did you go?” Snow asked as soon as Baz walked in the door. “You’ve been gone all day.”

 

“Yes, I know,” Baz said, wearily dropping his bag on the floor next to his bed and sitting down.

 

“And? What were you doing?” Snow said, his eyes narrowed, suspicious. “I saw you run off into the wood on Friday.”

 

“Yes, that’s it. I was off galavanting in the wood all day today. I was performing an evil ritual. Lots of blood, chanting, human sacrifice,” Baz said. “Look, what’s it to you?”

 

“I know you’re planning something, and I’m going to find out what it is,” Snow said. He always thought that Baz was planning something. Usually he was right, but this time around Baz didn’t happen to have any nefarious operations underway. Still, he hoped Snow didn’t look too hard. There were a few things that he’d rather Snow not find out about, in light of recent events.

 

“Alright, super sleuth,” Baz rolled his eyes. “Have fun with that.” He pulled his notebook out of his schoolbag and was about to start in on his homework when Snow interrupted his concentration again.

 

“Your friend Dev’s pretty angry at you.”

 

Baz looked up. “Again, blanking on the part that explains why you care.”

 

“I don’t! I just wanted to let you know. In case… you didn’t know. He asked me where you were today. I told him I didn’t know, that just because we’re roommates doesn’t mean we know everything about each other.”

 

“That’s right,” Baz said. “You don’t know anything about me.”

 

“I know more about you than you’d like to think,” Snow said. “I know your last name is Grimm-Pitch, that your family was famous or something before the Mage. I know you’re a good student, you’re the top of almost all your classes. I know that you like dark chocolate better than milk chocolate, and white chocolate not at all.”

 

“Oh, great, I’ve got a stalker now,” Baz said, but he was surprised. He didn’t know that Snow paid attention to him. He knew everything there was to know about Simon Snow, probably more than Bunce did, definitely more than Agatha Wellbelove knew about her so-called boyfriend.

 

“I know plenty,” Snow continued. “I know that your mother was the Headmistress here before the Mage, and she died.”

 

Baz was on his feet in a second. “Stop. Don’t talk about that. You don’t know anything about that.”

 

“I do,” Snow took a step closer, and they were close now, frighteningly close. The hairs on Baz’s arms screamed for him to back up, but Baz was angry. He didn’t care about the hairs on his arms or his better judgement, or the Anathema, either.

 

“You don’t know anything,” Baz spat, and grabbed Snow by the shirt collar roughly.

 

“My mother’s dead too, Baz,” Snow said softly. “I understand how it feels, I understand.”

 

Baz felt a rush of chills trickle down his entire body and for a moment his vision was tinged red, his fist curled, ready to strike. But then he blinked and the red faded and he saw what was really there: one of his fists raised, the other curled in Snow’s shirt. Snow’s face, eyes wide and scared. Scared of Baz. Baz let go of Snow and pushed him back, but not rough enough to cause any pain.

 

Baz looked down and away, his hair falling in front of his face. “You don’t know anything about me or my family.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Snow whispered, and paused like he was about to say something else, but he didn’t.

 

Baz didn’t look at Snow. He didn’t want to see that look on Snow’s face, that terror, that hurt, especially when the cause was Baz himself. He never wanted to make Simon feel like that. He’d just lost control for a moment.

 

He vowed to himself right then, right there, that he would never lose control like that again. Not when Simon Snow was on the line.


End file.
